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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979389">to Dream of Falling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn'>Asdgafn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>AU - Fandom, Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Character Death In Dream, College | University Student Sam Winchester, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Dreams and Nightmares, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Tattooed Castiel (Supernatural), Tattoos, Underage Drinking, Wings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:42:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,829</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This work is inspired by a poem about Icarus that I can't get out of my head.</p><p>Dean Winchester is a mechanic in the sleepy town of Lawrence, Kansas. He works with his adoptive father, Bobby, and lives with his brother, Sam, who one day desires to be a big time lawyer. Things aren't always the best but his family is all he needs. His apartment might be tiny but its full with bickering and laughter. </p><p>Castiel Novak is everything his parents wished he hadn't been. He's a starving artist, living in a cramped studio apartment with not enough room for all his art supplies and many unsold paintings. He wasn't religious and he definitely wasn't straight. Compared to his brothers, big shot CEO Michael and small business owner Gabriel, he was the failure. But that's ok with him because he was free and that was all that mattered. </p><p>Neither know who the other one is yet their fates seem intertwined when Dean dreams of a black haired, blue eyed wonder with miles of black wings and a fierce grin that tugs at his very soul. Somehow he doubts this bright eyed wonder is actually the real Icarus who supposedly flew and fell to drown thousands of years ago. But that smile and his haunting laugh follows him wherever he goes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural)/Original Male Character(s), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fanfiction in a very long time. I'll have to figure out who originally wrote the poem and link it when I can. It is beautiful and great. Please leave me some feedback, I would appreciate it a ton! I don't have anyone to proof read these so all mistakes are mine, sorry!</p><p>Please give this story a chance, the beginning is a little slow but I'm hoping to have it pick up quickly. Updates wont be on a set schedule since I work in healthcare and things get crazy fast with covid. I'm hoping to update 1 or 2 chapters a week if I can.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ugh, today sucked.” </p><p>    Sam’s voice was almost too loud in the apartment as he dropped his backpack onto the ground beside the table and slouched down into a worn out ikea chair. He flicked a few crumbs off the equally worn out table and pulled out books, binders, and a pencil case and spread them out. His books were obviously second hand and well used, the binding peeling and in some places taped back down. His binders all had other classes marked out on the spine, a new class scribbled under it. </p><p>     “Why? What happened?” Dean’s voice came from the kitchen and was closely followed by the steady sound of him starting to chop something up, the knife scraping against the cutting board in a way that made Sam wince in irritation. He wished his brother was more careful with their cookware but he was a hurricane unleashed in the kitchen, a force to be reckoned with.</p><p>     The chair scraped against the cheap linoleum as Sam scooted closer to the table, reaching out to pull a slightly crumpled packet out of one of the binders. It used to have ‘biology’ written across the spine but it was now scratched out and changed to ‘humanities 2”.  “Classes were boring and I swear my calculus teacher is after me. She accused me of cheating on the last quiz because I didn’t show my work. It’s college for god’s sake, why would I need to show my work!” He tugged a pencil out of his pencil case, the lead breaking against the fabric. </p><p>    Sam opened a notebook to clean page, jotting his name at the top with the date, a motion now ingrained into him. He chewed at the end of his pencil, then continued in a grumpy voice. “I also have a five page essay due by next week. Or a rough draft at least. It’s over the most ridiculous myth possible. Do you remember Icarus and Daedalus? From high school? Or was the middle grade?” The last words ended in a musing tone as he tried to think back, hunting for a memory that was just out of reach. </p><p>    He smoothed his hand over the pages of the crumpled packet he had fished out, trying to get some of the worst wrinkles out of the paper. The trip in his backpack and binder had already done a number on it and he sighed noisily out his nose, causing the corner of a page to flutter up before settling back down. The copies were poorly made, the words crooked and the images too grainy to really understand what was going on in them.</p><p>     “Icarus? Day… Dae.. Uh, no. Can’t say I have. What's it about anyways?” Dean started to pronounce the name but didn’t bother to finish, leaving it unsaid. Shortly after he spoke, a loud sizzle replaced the steady sound of him chopping whatever it was he was making for dinner. It was followed by a delicious smell that made Sam’s stomach let out a sound akin to a dying whale. He hadn’t had lunch today to instead go study for his calculus test. It wound up being an easy test and he regretted the skipped meal. </p><p>     Sam settled back into the chair and traced his fingers down the pages as he read the story and fed a summary to Dean,“Long story short, Icarus and his father, Daedalus, were locked away in the middle of a Labyrinth. The same one that Daedalus created for King Minos. That one Greek guy with the wife that had a minotaur baby instead of a human baby. Daedalus is like a crazy inventor and he makes wings for him and his son so they can escape. It says he used wax and string to make the wings and a harness to put them on. He told his son, Icarus, that he couldn’t fly too close to the sun or it would melt the wax. He also couldn’t fly too close to the sea or the water from the spray would weigh his feathers down.” </p><p>     Sam flipped the page over to the next one and continued the story, his voice bored. He had already read the myth through a few times today. “Icarus doesn’t listen to Daedalus and he started to fly too close to the sun. The wax melted and his feathers fell out until he couldn’t fly anymore. He ends up drowning in the ocean. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘Don’t fly too close to the sun’? That is called an ‘idiom’ and it basically comes from the story of Icarus.” </p><p>     As Sam finishes the short summary, Dean comes out of the kitchen with two heaping plates of food. “Huh. So the dude toasted his wings and drowned to death? What a cheerful story,” he plopped down across from Sam at the table and set his plate down directly on the story packet. “Fajitas tonight. I tried something new and roasted the peppers on the stove. I read that it really ‘enhances’ the taste. But we’ll see..” </p><p>     Sam glared at his brother as he pulled his papers free from the weight of the plate, checking for any spots or grease on the pages before putting them back into his binder and shoving everything aside so they could eat. One book fell to the floor with a loud wham but he ignored it. His mouth watered at the smell of the fajitas and he dug in immediately. It earned him a scalded tongue and he yelped at the pain, huffing air through his mouth, trying to cool down the too hot bite. Dean snorts,  “It’s hot, dingus.” </p><p>     “So what do you have against the story anyways?” He asks as he takes his own bite, seemingly unbothered by the heat. “It sounds like it’ll be an easy essay. You got a dumbass kid who melts his wings and crazy inventor dad left behind. Essay practically writes itself for you” He quirked an eyebrow as his brother as he talked around his mouthful of food, words garbled behind the huge bite he had taken. His table manners were dismal at best. </p><p>     Sam swallowed before he spoke, rolling his eyes at how gross his brother could be sometimes. “I dunno. The story seems too simple to be learning about in college. Middle school I could understand. But college? Come on. And besides, it would be impossible to make wings that actually work with just some feathers and wax. Second, how could he even forget about his wings melting? He kind of deserved it, drowning like that. Don’t be stupid when you’re flying with wings that shouldn’t work in the first place. How am I ever going to write five whole pages about this? The story itself isn’t even three pages!” </p><p>    Dean scoffed as he chased a stray piece of chicken across his plate with a torn tortilla. He wished he had grabbed the hot sauce on his way out, the meal lacking some heat.“Sammy, you’re thinking way too hard about this. You’re not usually this dense, are you? Dude what happened doesn’t actually matter, it’s whatever bullshit lesson you’re supposed to learn about it. Besides, the kid probably just wanted to be free.” He shrugged. </p><p>     Sam started to say something then stopped, looking thoughtful. He didn’t bother to actually say what he was thinking, instead letting the rest of dinner fall into a comfortable silence. He let Dean’s word turn in his head a few times and he felt a bit like an idiot. Maybe he was getting too worn out with his classes. It rubbed him the wrong way that he was stuck taking this Humanitie II course anyways and having assignments that felt useless didn’t help anything. He was going for a degree in law and the extra classes were just added expenses he didn’t need. Sam smothered a sigh and dug back into his dinner, even going to get seconds. The roasted bell peppers were actually very tasty and did bring out a bit more flavour.</p><p>     When dinner was done and the leftovers put into the fridge to be forgotten about and thrown away in a week, he gathered the plates up while Dean headed off to the shower. He hurriedly scrubbed down the dishes and loaded up the dishwasher, setting the timer to delay for an hour so his brother didn’t get doused with cold water in the shower. </p><p>    That was something Dean always did that confused Sam. Every single night when dinner was done, he left to go take a shower. He always complained that he hated how he smelled like whatever it was he had cooked and it was worse combined with the stink of grease and exhaust from his job. And sure enough, as soon as he finished wiping down the table, he could hear the hiss and sputter of the shower starting up quickly followed by the loud sound of Dean’s radio blasting his old ass music. </p><p>     Sam sighed as he sat back down at the table and grabbed a pen. He might as well start his rough draft now. Dean would be in the shower for at least half an hour, if not longer. His brother was worse than a girl when it came to using up all the hot water in their tiny apartment. He looked down at the grainy picture of Icarus. It showed the man with wings falling through the sky, feathers surrounding him as he plunged toward the ocean. The picture made him uncomfortable for some reason and he quickly turned the page.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>     “Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s doooor.” Dean’s voice echoed through the bathroom as he loudly sang along with the song, scrubbing away the grime of the day. At first the water swirled a dingy grey down the drain, stained with the oil and grease of the garage but it quickly cleared up. He carelessly tossed the rag aside and grabbed the cheap shampoo off the lip of the tub, squirting a generous amount into his hands. </p><p>     He raked the shampoo through his hair, nodding along with the music. When the climax of the song started shredding out some fantastic guitar, he stopped to strum along wildly on his own air guitar. The motion sent shampoo sliding into his eyes, immediately burning and stinging. His singing turned into swearing as he whirled around and stuck his face into the spray of the water. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, blinking away the soap with another lingering swear. </p><p>     The song faded to a new one in the background but the mood was killed. Some Bon Jovi took the place and he tuned it out as he finished up his shower. When the water was shut off, steam curled lazily through the air, smelling like whatever cheap manly body wash he had blindly plucked off the shelves of the grocery store. He ruffled the towel through his hair to dry it as he stepped out of the bathtub, tracking water across the tiles. </p><p>    He stopped in front of the sink, tying the towel snugly across his waist. He stared at the steam clouded mirror for a long moment before reaching over to draw a crude picture on it, smirking at his masterpiece. Then he flipped off the radio and clicked the exhaust on as he left, heading to his bedroom. He didn’t bother to mop up the water scattered across the tiles, leaving it for unsuspecting socks to find later.</p><p>     The hallway carpet stuck to his feet as he padded to his room, making him crinkle his nose in disgust. He hated the texture and the first thing he pulled on were a pair of thick black socks, one of which had a hole in the heel that sort of defeated the purpose of it all. He hummed to himself as he rifled through his collection of old band t-shirts and cheap walmart shirts, hunting for something comfortable to wear. </p><p>     He picked out a faded red t-shirt that just said ‘i’m awesome’ on it and a comfortable pair of grey sweat pants, skipping the boxers. Some things just needed a little freedom sometimes. He stretched lazily after getting dressed, reaching up for the ceiling with a groan. He fingered a hole in the hem of his shirt as he walked back down the hallway. He found Sam bent over the table, writing furiously on a torn piece of paper, his journal set aside. The kid worked too hard sometimes. As he looked over his shoulder, he saw a mess of circled ideas and crooked lines, some disaster of a brainstorm on the paper. </p><p>     To stop him from working, he caught his brother in a headlock from the back and roughly tousled his hair, much to Sam’s irritation as he shouted at Dean. “C’mon man, take a break for once in your life. Do you want to watch a movie? You’re gonna kill yourself over homework one of these days!” he dodged the smack Sam aimed at him and churlishly stuck his tongue out at him as he backed up, hands raised in surrender. “I wanted to watch Lord of the Rings again, you game? I even bought some popcorn.” </p><p>     Sam started to argue with him but the thought of popcorn seemed to wilt his resolve. He looked at his homework then back at Dean then sighed,“You’d better make two bags. You always eat all of it and I barely get any.” He stacked the mess up then hastily shoved his books and binders into his backpack before kicking it over to the front door so he could grab it in the morning. “You get the popcorn, I’ll put the DVD in.” </p><p>     Dean threw his hands up dramatically, “God, Sam, work me like a slave. Make me dinner, Dean. Make me popcorn, Dean. Do this Dean, do that Dean.” His words fell on deaf ears as Sam went to their living room to put the DVD in. He smiled as the familiar soundtrack started up as he started unwrapping the plastic from the microwave popcorn, leaving the trash on the countertop. He looked up at the clock and saw it wasn’t too late, hopefully they wouldn’t get a noise complaint. </p><p>     He hurriedly popped up two bags of popcorn, dumping them into large bowls. He also grabbed the 12 pack of beer out of the fridge, balancing it on his thumb with a bowl in each hand. One of the bags had burned a little, so he made sure to drop that bowl onto Sam’s lap as he dropped down onto the couch next to him with a noisy groan. “God, Sam, we need a new couch. I swear this one is going to break my back one day.” The cushions sagged pathetically under their combined weight.</p><p>     Sam didn’t seem to notice his burned popcorn as he accepted a beer and started the movie, ignoring Dean’s complaints about their poor couch. The comforting sound of Galadriel filled the room and he reached over to turn off the lamp next to their couch, plunging the room into darkness, save for the glow of their small TV.  </p><p>     Galadriel’s rich voice overtook the soft music, “The world is changed… I feel it in the water… I feel it in the Earth… I smell it in the air….”</p><p>     Dean took a long draw from his beer, sighing happily as the cold liquid slipped down his throat. He immediately stole a handful of popcorn out of Sam’s bowl, earning himself a solid smack on his hand. They did that throughout the three hour long movie, bickering with each other between repeating the lines dramatically to each other. At one point, Sam was tipsily sprawled across Dean’s lap, dramatically repeating Gandalf’s powerful cry of, “You shall not pass!” and knocking the almost empty bowl of popcorn onto the ground, scattering the kernels across the carpet .Dean shoved him off, dumping him on the floor as they both cracked up during what should have been a somber scene. </p><p>     Sam scrambled back onto the couch, instead opting to throw his gangly legs over Dean and slouching against the arm of the couch, eyes glued back on the TV. He stayed that way until the end of the movie. At that point, almost the entire 12 pack was drank and the popcorn was only a few unpopped kernels in the bottom of Sam’s bowl and what was on the carpet where he had knocked Dean’s down. Dean hauled himself off the couch and staggered over to the TV, pushing the button to shut it off. He blinked blearily in the darkness until Sam switched the lamp back on with a loud yawn. </p><p>     He squinted at the clock above their entertainment center and saw it was half past midnight. He groaned tiredly, knowing the morning would be hell on both of them. Sam mumbled something close to a good night as he shuffled by and headed down the hall to his room, his door squealing as it shut behind him. Dean smothered his yawn as he stumbled toward his own room, telling himself he needed to buy some WD-40 for those hinges.</p><p>     He tumbled into his bed while he dragged his shirt off, throwing it onto the floor without caring. The AC chugged noisily from the hallway and mixed with the soft sound of his radio, playing on the end table next to his bed. He threw the blankets haphazardly over his legs and was asleep in minutes, the low drone of the radio chasing him with a song too quiet to actually draw him in. </p><p>~~~~~~</p><p>    When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the middle of a field with a thousand wildflowers swaying in the breeze. He stared up at a brilliant sky full of fat, fluffy clouds gilded in gold and crimson. Was it a sunrise or a sunset? He couldn’t figure out where the sun was coming from, the colours were everywhere. Whichever it was, it was beautiful and he laid there for too long, enjoying the peace of watching the shapes and whispers of clouds float by. </p><p>    While he watched the clouds go by, a figure suddenly split through one, swooping through the air with a graceful speed. At first he thought maybe it was an Angel, which confused him because he didn’t believe in such things, but the figure had enormous black wings, beating savagely against the sky. And it was strange… even though the Angel had to have been miles away, Dean could see every detail on him as if he were only inches away. </p><p>    As he stared at the wings, he noticed something red holding the feathers together, glossy and waxy looking. And that was when the familiarity of it hit him, even as his eyes got sight of the dark brown harness holding the wings to the shoulder of the man. It was the man from Sam’s story. What was his name? It was caught at the edges of his thoughts, stuck on the tip of his tongue as he watched the man make the sky his, flying with a grace that stole his breath away with want. He wished he could fly like that, nevermind what Sam said about the impossibility of it. </p><p>    God, the man was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, with an expressive face lit up with pure joy and piercing blue eyes. He shouldn’t have been able to see it so clearly, but his eyes were more blue than the sky, bluer than any ocean or sapphire or crystal he had ever seen. Eyes so blue they seemed to stare right into his soul and he would hand it over in a second without a thought to question why. The wind whipped through his unruly black hair, tossing it all around.</p><p>    Oh. Icarus. The name came to him in a rush and the story with it, the tragedy that followed the freedom of flight.</p><p>     Icarus was smiling fiercely, a savage joy that lit up his whole face even as his wings brought him closer and closer to the sun. Gold and red coated his feathers, drenching with a surreal splash of colours. And even when the sun started to soften and melt the wax on Icarus’ wings, his smile did not falter and if anything, he beat his wings harder, flew faster, reached higher.</p><p>     The red wax melted like blood, dripping across his skin, leaving it welted and red with burns. Feathers began to shed, falling away to spin through the air like thoughts, forgotten in the moment. And suddenly it wasn’t daylight that threatened to burn him out of the sky, but the deepest of night. Stars exploded through the dark like a thousand eyes, all there to bear witness to Icarus’ fall.</p><p>    Icarus stretched his hands out to the sky like a plea, still grinning savagely with pure elation. Every feather that dropped away was taken by the darkness and turned into new stars, gleaming like gems around him.  Icarus laughed as if the fall were some secret joke and the last Dean saw of him was him laughing as the stars swallowed him whole. Instead of falling straight down, it seemed like he fell almost… backwards into the night sky. </p><p>    Overwhelming sorrow struck at Dean’s heart, making it beat hard and painfully as he stared into the night with regret. The sweet taste of freedom had been too much for Icarus and the ghost of his laughter was, too, taken by the night sky.</p><p>     And then he was waking up, jerking awake with a gasp, skin clammy with sweat. The AC still chugged noisily in the background and his radio still hummed some distant song behind the new jarring noise of his alarm. That laughter as the man fell to his death was left to fade into the air as he blinked the sweat and sleep out of his eyes. He tried to focus his eyes on the ceiling above him, struggling to separate the dream from reality.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The next chapter will be from Cas POV. :) I really hope you all like my version of Castiel. Per usual, I don't have anyone to proof read or edit, so all mistakes are my own.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He groaned grumpily, grogginess tugging at his limbs like a heavy weight as he threw the blanket off his legs. Rather than get up like a normal person, he instead rolled straight out of bed and onto the floor with a crash, nevermind the downstairs neighbors. His knees banged against the floor painfully and he tiredly blinked at the floor, his thoughts slower than molasses. The alarm beeped jarringly at him from his end table and he reached over to turn it off, hitting it a little harder than was necessary.</p><p>     Dean squeezed his eyes shut hard for a moment then opened them again, glaring with his exhaustion. He dragged himself up to his feet and shuffled over to the closet to get dressed for work. His “uniform” wasn’t anything special, just an oil stained shirt and some jeans that had definitely seen better days; the look was finished with scuffed black boots. He scratched at his chin, fingers dragging against the scruff that was growing there. Definitely time to shave tonight before his shower. </p><p>     He dragged himself out of his room and to the kitchen, pushing the button on the coffee maker to start the brew. Bless Sam, who always made sure to set the coffee pot up to brew in the morning. The sound of percolating coffee blended with the steady tick of the clock in the dining room. The smell was almost enough to perk him up as he stared longingly at the pot, watching it fill up with excruciating slowness. As soon as a cup worth had brewed, he pulled out the carafe and poured it into a chipped mug that said ‘mornings are for losers’ on it and returned the pot to finish brewing.</p><p>     He immediately took a sip of his morning caffeine and sighed blissfully, unbothered by the heat of the drink. He shuffled over to the fridge, still sipping slowly as he looked inside. The fridge looked woefully bare and was in desperate need of being restocked. Dean shut the door and gave up on the idea of breakfast, instead hoping that today was a day Bobby brought donuts in. He set his empty cup on the counter and made quick work of the bathroom, taking a whizz and brushing his teeth between yawns. A splash of water did nothing to help him wake up more and his eyes already had the beginning of black circles under them.</p><p>     He had slept the entire night and got a decent six hours worth of snoozing, but it felt like he hadn’t slept in a week! It was ridiculous. Maybe he was getting old at the tender age of 26. He narrowed his eyes at himself through the mirror, then rolled his shoulders and left to get a second cup of joe, breaking his usual routine of only having one cup. It made brushing his teeth seem useless as he winced against the acrid taste of toothpaste mixing with black coffee. </p><p>     The sound of the shower told Dean that Sam was up. He hoped his brother had slept better than he did because he barely left enough coffee for a cup for Sam as he grabbed his keys off the counter and headed out the door. Even though someone was home, he still locked the door behind him out of habit. Their apartment wasn’t in the friendliest of neighborhoods, though nothing bad had happened to them. Yet.</p><p>    He smoothed his hand lovingly over the hood of his impala as he walked around to his door. He unlocked the car and slid inside, “Good morning, baby.” He should have felt embarrassed to be speaking to his car but it was probably the only true love of his life. The rumble and roar of the engine was comforting as he grabbed a cassette and popped it in, music blaring to life loudly. He only cranked the volume up, the howl of Metallica a good choice as he backed up out of the parking lot.</p><p>    One of these days, Dean needed to find the backroads and let his baby loose. The sedate 35 MPH through town was boring for him, his lead foot easing it up to a chaste 45 MPH. A little speeding wouldn’t hurt him. He was too tired to sing along to his music but the thudding of the bass made his heartbeat quicken a little, an illusion of energy as he drove to work. </p><p>    Bobby’s scrap yard was the same disaster everyday. Rusty cars stood in rows, pathetically abandoned vehicles left to the onslaught of weather. Tires were stacked haphazardly here and there, and even an old fridge sat on the sun bleached grass. It was going to be a scorching hot day, the sun already prickling his skin with sweat as he parked and walked up to the door of the house. Summers in Kansas were always brutal, especially at the end of August.</p><p>    “Hey old man, your favourite is here.” he called a greeting as he walked through the front door and scraped his boots against the rug. Ellen would skin him alive if he didn’t clean his shoes and tracked even half a speck of dirt into their house. And sweet baby jesus, score! On the entryway table was a box of doughnuts open wide to show a mix of glazed and iced goods, which he greedily stole two of. He ate the first in a single bite, cramming the entire glazed doughnut in his mouth. Dean had zero shame in his loud moan at the sweet, sweet taste of sugar and carbs. </p><p>    Bobby came around the corner a second later with a toolkit in one hand and his own doughnut in another, sprinkles stuck in his short beard. “You’re late,” is all he said as he went out the front door. Dean scowled, pulling his phone out to check the time. It was only 7:55AM and he started at 8:00AM! By all means, he was early! But not early enough for Bobby, who was a stickler at schedules and keeping to them. He grumpily tore a bite out of his second doughnut as he followed Bobby to the garage, careful to not let a single crumb fall on Ellen’s spotless floor. </p><p>    “Wake up on the wrong side of bed?” Dean asked as he stuck the last of his breakfast into his mouth and dumped his keys, wallet, and phone on their workshop desk. The garage they worked out of was old and worn out but well taken care of. Thanks to Ellen’s obsessive need to keep things clean, the place was spotless. They didn’t dare make a mess for her to scold them over. </p><p>    “We’re busy today, you idjit. Got two cars for ya already. Cobalt needs a new battery and alternator tested. Probably just the battery is bad but y’never know, the damn things love to cause trouble. Her owner towed her in just half an hour ago and he wants her back by 10. Bastard is lucky I’m in a good mood, or it woulda been tonight. Hell, maybe tomorrow. And then we got an altima with bad coolant hoses..” Bobby groused as he set down his tool box and pointed to the two cars filling up their tiny garage. That poor altima had seen better days, its paint faded to a dusty looking bruise of a blue and the front was dented to hell. The cobalt was in better shape, a sparkling fresh washed silver with only a small dent marking the passenger side door.</p><p>    “On the altima, I checked the hoses and they’re all soft and leaking. I’m not sure what is going on but they’re all ruint to hell, so just strip them all. Might want to flush the system, too. He’s not picking it up until tomorrow. Parts will be in tonight or in the mornin’.” </p><p>    “If ya change the battery out on the cobalt, I can test the alternator but after I holler at Rufus, he said the auction on main had a decent lookin’ tranny* for cheap,” Bobby smacked a hand against the hood of the cobalt as he passed it and headed over to the ancient looking landline that sat on their worn out shop desk. “I’m gonna call ‘em first, I’ll be damned if I waste a trip into town for nothin’. He didn’t wait for Dean to respond, instead picking up the receiver and dialing in a number.</p><p>    Dean huffed a tired sigh out and rubbed his eyes hard, trying to force himself to wake up more. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and that haunting laugh from his dream seemed to be following him, loud and needy in his mind. When he closed his eyes to rub them, those eyes bluer than the sky were there, set in the face of a man consumed with fierce joy and freedom, even as he fell to his death. God, why was the dream dogging his every step so determinedly? It was just a dream and not even one of the weirder one’s he had. There’d been that one about the asian with the--.</p><p>     Bobby coughed loudly and disrupted Dean’s thoughts. He guiltily jerked his head to look at his boss, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and impatient expression. Dean hurriedly grabbed the toolkit Bobby had carried in with him plus a few extra off the shelves nearby. Bobby nodded approvingly as Dean got to moving, turning his attention back to the phone where he started loudly arguing with whoever was on the other end of the line. Probably the auction. He doubted Rufus had given Bobby an accurate price, he had a habit of exaggerating the deals he found. </p><p>     Dean took a deep breath then dove into the job with a forced gusto. Coolant hoses weren’t the worst thing to replace, just tedious. He popped the hood of the cobalt with a stifled yawn and stared down at the hoses. They looked pretty much fine but if they needed replacing, they needed replacing. Instead of questioning Bobby,  he just grabbed a box knife out of the kit and went to work. First he set up a pan under the car to catch any coolant that drained out. He eyeballed the position, making sure it was big enough to catch it all if a lot was left in the leaking system.</p><p>    Coolant hoses couldn’t be pulled off by hand, they either had to be cut off with a razer, pried off with a pick tool, or you could use a clamping tool to twist them off. Since the hose was trash, he slit it open carefully then twisted the end off, throwing it down next to him. He hummed absently to himself, only a small snatch of song that seemed determined to loop endlessly in his head, the same few seconds repeating. It was slowly driving him up the wall but no matter what different lyrics he tried to think about, the same ones came back to chase them off.</p><p>    It didn’t take too long to remove the two radiator hoses to the cobalt, the pile of shredded and cut hoses steadily growing larger next to him. He was arms deep in the engine, trying to twist the end of the second hose off, when a shout startled him, his elbow banging painfully against something sharp. Dean swore loudly as jerked his arm out and cupped a hand against his throbbing elbow as he turned around to glare at Bobby, who was in turn glaring at him. If looks could kill, Dean would be dead.</p><p>    “What are you doin’, you stupid boy?!” Bobby thundered.. no roared, his face quickly starting to turn an alarming shade of angry red and purple. “You’re supposedta take the hoses off the altima, not the friggin’ cobalt!” He pointed a finger accusingly at the cobalt, as if it were somehow the car’s fault, too. “Damn it, Dean, the owner’s gonna be here in a few hours to pick her up!” </p><p>    Dean could feel himself pale as he looked at the cobalt, now minus all its coolant hoses, then looked at the altima. He was so tired and stuck in his own head, he’d completely gotten the two jobs mixed up. He groaned and almost put his face in his hands, remembering at the last second they were covered in coolant. Instead he just winced and refused to look back up at Bobby. He could almost feel the heat of how pissed off Bobby was. </p><p>    “Getchur ass up and go to the parts store off main, past the auction house. This is gonna come outta your paycheck. Get replacements now and fix ‘er up; you’d best be quick about it, too, I still want that altima stripped. Damn it, Dean, you know better. You should have felt the hoses were fine, not soft like I said.” As Bobby spoke, his voice softened a little, though was still laced with irritation. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You feeling ok? You never make mistakes like this ‘un.” </p><p>    “I’m fine, Bobby. I just slept bad,” Dean kicked half heartedly at his pile of useless hoses, regretting now that he had used the knife. If he’d done the other way, he might have been able to save them. He hurried over to their work sink and washed the coolant off his hands, the familiar smell of fast orange wafting up from the steaming water. He dried his hands on his jeans and snatched his keys off the work desk, leaving without another word. Bobby watched him as he stalked out the door, his expression now turned to one of almost concern. </p><p>    ~~~~~</p><p>    The drive to town was quiet. His embarrassment had his face feeling hot and his concentration was shot to hell, the thought of putting music on forgotten. He was pissed at himself, his mind circulating with internal insults, beyond frustrated. The cost for the hoses wouldn’t be too much but he didn’t really have that much spare to afford the cost of his stupid mistake. He smacked his hands hard against the steering wheel with a growl.</p><p>    Thankfully though, there was an Advance Auto Parts just off the highway. He coasted through the exit a little too fast but he didn’t particularly care. He parked up at the front and hurried into the store, all too aware of his short timeframe to fix his errors. The cashier greeted him with a bored to death voice that he ignored as he immediately spit out the hoses he needed.</p><p>    “Okay my dude, let me check if we’ve got it all, m’kay?” the cashier smiled awkwardly before ducking his head at the lack of response from Dean. He hurried uncomfortably away and was gone for what felt like forever but was less than 5 minutes. “Okay, um, your total will be, um, $253.77. You’re lucky you came in today, we had a sale on them hoses.” The boy babbled at Dean and tried another smile that went ignored again. Dean winced at the price but just jammed his card through the machine, sliding it down maybe a little too forcefully. </p><p>    The cashier awkwardly packed up the hoses and receipt, “Um, have a good day, thank you for shopping at Advance.” The words ended up directed to Dean’s back as he hurried out of the shop, oblivious to his rude behavior, only aware of his irritation and need to hurry. He tossed the bag into the truck and back out of the parking lot with a screech, racing back to the highway. </p><p>    By the time he was walking back into the shop, it was a quarter to 9 and his time was dwindling. It didn’t really take long to replace and reconnect hoses but if the client came back early, he would be screwed. Bobby seemed to have vanished during his trip to town and he was thankful to avoid the disapproval. He wasted no time, immediately getting to work on the replacement. And still, those same few seconds of song kept repeating over and over in his head, as if to mock him. </p><p>    Once the radiator hoses were connected and the coolant refilled, he hunted down their multimeter. He shut the bonnet of the car with extra care, not daring to let it shut with bang in case Bobby was still feeling touchy. He moved around to the back and popped open the trunk, pushing up the false bottom to expose the battery. Why they put the battery in the trunk, he never knew. It was a weird spot and backing up for a jump was a nightmare. He hooked the multimeter up, making sure to connect the red to the positive and the black to the negative. </p><p>    Bobby came back at that point and Dean waved him over to help with the meter. He had Bobby watch it as he ducked into the car and turned it on for just a few seconds. The cobalt struggled to catch before roaring to life. He counted his mississippis to ten then turned the car off, stepping out to look at the meter and sighed at the low voltage. Maybe the battery had a dead cell? “I think it is the battery. But hell, could still be an alternator. Do we have any charged to swap it out?” he asked Bobby, still frowning at the meter. </p><p>    “Yeah, I’ve got one I think. Unhook that one and I’ll go fetch the other,” Bobby was already walking away as he talked. Dean could tell he was still a bit ticked off at the mistake from earlier and he disconnected the battery with extra care, leaving it off to the side. He double checked for any signs of leaking battery acid or corrosion but found none, it was all squeaky clean. Bobby returned with the new battery and they had it connected and tested in no time, the volts already shooting up just fine. He went around to the front of the cobalt, connecting the meter to the red probe and touching the black connector to a separate metal part of the car. Bobby started the car for him and it immediately read out to 14.1 volts, a sign that the alternator itself was fine. </p><p>    “Alright, Bobby, it was the battery. Alt is reading out just fine. I’ll write up the invoice,” he shut the hood of the car as gently as he did earlier. The invoice tickets were sitting on the desk and he had it written out quickly, hoping that their client didn’t argue about the price. A new battery wasn’t cheap but definitely better than a new alternator. Those were a bitch to replace. He left the paper on the desk, moving on to work on the altima.</p><p>    The client didn’t argue about the price but instead showered Bobby with enthusiastic praise and a promise to leave a raving review. He paid up and left with no trouble while Dean disconnected the coolant system for the altima. He found trace amounts of oil in the system, probably the reason why all the hoses had gone soft and leaked almost all the fluid out. The new hoses were connected pretty quickly and he filled it up with a heavy duty detergent to start washing out the oil. He flushed the system three times to be sure before refilling it and declaring the job complete.</p><p>    When he was done, he double checked all the tires and refilled the rear passenger side, it was a touch low. He cleaned up the mess from his work and by then another car was dropped off to be worked on. He went straight to it and the rest of the day passed without further incident, at least from him. The altima was picked up and Bobby had a shouting match with the owner when he tried to refuse paying the bill. He accused them of being thieves and only paid up when Bobby threatened to impound the car and call the police. </p><p>    After that little fiasco, the rest of the day was quiet and it was five o’clock before he knew it. He stretched noisily and cleaned up quickly, mopping the painted concrete floor and making sure to put all the tools away so Ellen didn’t kill him. Then he was shouting goodbye as he loaded up into the impala and headed home. He knew Sam would already be home and probably be balls deep in his school work. His stomach grumbled noisily, reminding him his fast food lunch had been hours ago. </p><p>     Dinner was just quick and easy skillet burgers with some fries on the side. Sam made his classic bitch face until Dean added a sad looking side salad that was just shredded iceberg and carrots that were looking a little past their due. But it made Sam happy and that's what mattered. He squeezed out an ungodly amount of ranch on top, pretending to enjoy it for his brother’s sake. His brother and his rabbit food…</p><p>     That night he slept hard and all he could remember in the morning were the bright blue eyes, staring into his soul and his intense desire to just hand it over, give it away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We finally have a Castiel! In my version, Cass is more of the bad boy type with tattoos and a drinking habit. He's a wayward artist with only him in mind. Meg makes an appearance as his best friend who desperately wants our boy to get himself someone. :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Cassie, you need a job.” </p><p>    Michael’s voice was firm with disapproval and laced with disdain as he glared at his younger brother. “And some new clothes. The ‘artist who can’t keep his paint on the palette’ look is unbecoming of a Novak.” He waved his hand to indicate Castiel’s well loved clothes, the smudges and splatters a constellation of color against the otherwise ordinary fabric. He wore what used to be a nice pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, just a hair too snug against his skin. </p><p>     “I don’t need a job, Michael. I have a job, and don’t call me Cassie.” Castiel snorted at his brother, dismissing his comment with a roll of his eyes. His voice was bitter,  “Remember? I even went to college for it. I pay my own bills, I buy my own food, I live in my own apartment. What more could I need?” He ran an agitated hand through his already disastrous hair, messing it up further but uncaring of it. It was a long lost battle to tame the mess. </p><p>     Castiel pointed over to his painting that was leaning up against the table in Michaels’ foyer, “Does your client want this or not?” He asked, voice a little rude with impatience for his callous brother. Even though he was his own worst critic, Castiel actually almost liked this piece. It was a majestic painting of an angel with sweeping black wings. The inspiration had come out of nowhere and he soon found himself painting someone that looked vaguely like him, if only because the blue eyes and messy black hair complimented the black feathers that stretched up as if to reach for the sky. Complete with a silver halo, glowing faintly against the backdrop of stormy grey clouds. </p><p>     “Unfortunately, yes, Cassie. Although I am struck with temptation to call off the deal and stop fueling your inane desires to be a.. Ah, what is it called? Oh, yes. A ‘starving artist’.” Ignoring the earlier request to ditch the nickname, Michael stooped over to pluck up the painting while talking, eyeballing it with a critical stare. He tsked lightly. “But, alas, I do need the good natures of the church on my side. You did a splendid job, though it’s depressing looking. Would it kill you to paint sun and light? I swear, every painting has a storm or it is nighttime.” He lightly traced one of the wings with a touch that was worlds gentler than his words. </p><p>     “You know, even Gabriel is turning into something worthwhile. Admittedly the idea of owning a bakery, of all things, is still beneath us but at least he is a businessman. He makes a very generous salary. Studying abroad in France almost paid off for the brat.” Michael carefully stowed the painting in a thin box that sat atop the table, packing the extra space with tissue paper to keep the painting from jostling during transport. </p><p>     Cas mentally counted to ten while his brother was droning on, exaggerating his mississippi’s extra long then did a second time. Halfway through the third repetition, his patience broke and he snapped, “Michael, shut the hell up. I’m sick of your ‘holier than thou’ bullshit. I’m not a starving artist. I have a savings and everything I need. And don’t you start on Gabriel. At least he is happy and doing what he wants to do. The Novak name be damned. Just because you don’t have a personality beyond our shared last name, doesn’t mean we have to do the same.” He glared daggers at his brother, pointing an accusing finger at him. </p><p>     Michael raised an eyebrow at the minor outburst and held his hands up in surrender, “Ok, ok. I’ll leave it be for now, don’t be rude. It’s not a good look on you, little brother. It’s just, you keep breaking mother’s heart with all these rebellious phases.” Castiel looked like he was about to unleash another round off on his brother when Michael shushed him, “The client agreed on $10,000. I think this is the most expensive one yet, brother dearest.” He plopped an underwhelming looking bag on the table next to the boxed up painting. </p><p>     “The usual. All in $100 bills, wrapped in ten bundles of a thousand. Try to not spend it all at once, ok?” The payment shut Castiel up as he grumpily scooped the bag up with a muttered ‘thanks’. “Mother has a party next month, you’d better make sure you’re there. On time. In a suit. She’s signing over CEO to me.” Michael dropped the news with nonchalance but failed to hide the glimmer of smugness. </p><p>     “CEO, huh? Michael Novak, CEO of Novak Oils.” Castiel wasn’t surprised by the news, his voice almost bland. Their mother had been hinting at retirement for a few months now. Granted, she was a little young to be thinking about retirement. She was only in her early fifties. “Don’t let it go to your already blown up head. I don’t think I could handle it anymore. Just you wait, oil will probably crash soon anyways. Better start investing in better stocks.” It was the same old stab he made every time Michael brought up their family business. </p><p>    His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket, prompting him to fish it out and stare down at the flashing screen. “I have to go, Michael. I’d say it was fun but you spent most of the time judging my life choices.” He kept his voice dry but quirked a half smile at the end to soften the words. “Congratulations on the new title. I’m sure you’ll do a fantastic job at ‘preserving the Novak name’.” His brother was gearing up again, probably for a new lecture as he took the call and walked out of what Michael called ‘a paltry mansion’. It had 26 rooms, a foyer, three kitchens, a dozen bathrooms or more, and a whole slew of other things yet it wasn’t enough to house Michael and his egregious ego. </p><p>    “This is Castiel,” he answered the phone with a polite and clipped voice. Much to his satisfaction the automatic voice droned about his car’s extended warranty and he ended the call as he climbed into his car. He dropped his money into the passenger seat and immediately dialed up his partner in crime and probably only true friend, Meg Masters. She was a highschool teacher at the public school with a feisty personality and the biggest metaphorical balls he’d ever known. </p><p>    “Cas, my wayward bird. Whyever would you be calling me at 8:30 AM on a Saturday?” Meg’s voice was a soft, sleepy purr in his ear, punctuated with a delicate yawn. “I don’t have the brats to handle for another two weeks, I like sleeping in while I still can.” He heard some shuffling and the sound of a keurig heating up, the clink of a mug against the countertop. She must have him on speaker phone then. </p><p>    “I’m calling you to see if you’re free tonight,” he said cheerfully as he started his car up. It was a sleek and comfortable mazda3, spacious with just a little zip. His phone automatically connected with his bluetooth and Meg’s voice filled the speakers, accompanied by the sound of percolating coffee, “Cas, for you darling, I’m always free. But I doubt you’ve suddenly changed gears and find my lovely assets to your liking, so what is the occasion? It had better be good. You know once I’m up, I’m up.” </p><p>    Castiel flicked his turn signal on and merged onto the highway with minimal trouble, something he appreciated. He hated driving and highways especially made him nervous but it was the only way back home from Michael’s. “The church bought my painting, the angel I’ve been working on for over a month. I’m ten grand richer.” He found himself going ten under, stuck behind a semi. He happily stayed behind it, enjoying the more peaceful flow (or lack thereof) of traffic. People in their usual rushes just went around him and his new semi friend, some angrily merging and roaring past. </p><p>    “Oh congrats, lovely! Are you buying me dinner after all? That new italian joint opened up last week and I heard they have absolutely delicious pasta. Don’t worry, they outsource to cruelty free and cage free suppliers.” Meg sipped noisily at her coffee as she talked, “It’s near that club you like, too. The one with the alt music you, for some reason, absolutely love.” She took on a persuasive tone, dangling the offering as a baited hook. </p><p>    He resisted the urge to sigh at her, instead reluctantly agreeing. It had been weeks since he’d last had a little outing; he’d earned a little more fun than watching TV or painting. “I’ll go, Meg, but only if you promise to not throw every eligible, and not eligible, man at me. If anything happens, I’d prefer it was natural and mutual. You’re a terror and you know it.” The thought of pasta made his stomach growl, reminding him he had skipped his breakfast in order to catch Michael before his day got too busy. “How about I bring you breakfast and we can go over dinner plans? I’ll even let you dress me.” </p><p>    Meg squealed excitedly through his car’s speakers as he took his exit, returning to the sedate and peaceful speed limit of town. He was thankful it wasn’t ever higher than 35 miles per hour here, a comfortable speed that he appreciated dearly. “I’ll be at your apartment in twenty, Cassie! You’d better get me another coffee. I want it large, four shots of the good stuff, and make it caramel or I’ll rebel.” She shot off her coffee order and hung up without waiting for his response, the radio taking over with Sirius XM’s alt nation. Meg was the only person who could call him ‘Cassie’ and not make him wince.</p><p>    He made a quick stop at a local bakery, ordering up some breakfast croissants with a variety of options. Whatever was leftover would be his breakfasts over the next few days. Another stop at Starbucks loaded him up with their caffeine fix of the day. He liked their chai latte with a few extra shots of espresso. Both him and Meg were monsters when it came to espresso, never less than three shots to get their motors running. One of these days it would probably stop their hearts but if the day ever came, at least it ended on their beloved coffee. </p><p>    He pulled up at home before Meg was there, her abhorrent pink minivan missing in the parking lot. He remembered the day she had pulled out pink spray paint cans and bullied him into helping her destroy what used to be a lovely cherry red of a drive. He precariously balanced the coffee, food, and money in his arms as he unlocked the door and shuffled inside. The cool blast of the AC was welcomed, it was already getting stiflingly hot outside. </p><p>    His apartment wasn’t the grandest thing in the world but it was home. The walls were covered in his paintings he didn’t deem good enough to sell or simply couldn’t be sold. He went for a comfortable but minimalistic design for the furniture, the couch and recliner a neutral grey with a black and white rug. His coffee table was black with homemade coasters, cluttered with the mail from yesterday and a forgotten cup of tea that had been sitting for days. </p><p>    A low whine greeted him as he settled his things on the bartop separating the kitchen from the tiny dining room. “Hey baby,” he reached down and ruffled the ears of his dog, smiling as she enthusiastically licked every millimeter of his hands twice over.. “Who's a good girl, huh? Who's a good girl.” She waggled the nub of her tail excitedly and ran circles around his legs before sitting down to watch him wash his hands and unload the breakfast onto a few recyclable paper plates. She was a gorgeous brindle boxer with bright eyes and a loving personality, plus she had puppy eyes that could soften even the hardiest of hearts. </p><p>    Only a second later, the front door slammed open with a shout, causing his dog to bark and charge at whoever was coming in. “CASSSSIE! It’s me! The light of your life! Coming for her coffee!” The spiel was interrupted with a thump and a curse, “Oh, jesus christ. Down Rain, down!” He peeked over the bar to see Meg carefully knocking Rain back off of her before she made her way to one of the stools at the bartop. “Your dog tried to eat my face-- Ooh, you truly do love me, Cas! Croissants and coffee? If I weren’t off the market, I just might propose right now.” She hooked a plate over and dug into the still warm breakfast sandwich. Meg was always a spark of energy, excitable and interrupting herself.</p><p>    Castiel grabbed his own plate and took a seat next to her, where they ate in companionable silence while Rain begged pathetically from the floor, giving them the biggest puppy eyes ever known to man. She was ignored, her wiley charms already wasted on the pair; they were far too used to it. “Now, Clarence, tell me about our date. Can I at least dress you up all sexy? You already have the sex hair and your tattos are a magnet for trouble.” Meg talked with her mouth full, a habit that made him cringe. </p><p>    Meg reached over to gently trace her fingers across the tattoo that peeked out from under his right sleeve, following the trail to his wrist with a touch that made him shiver slightly. The tattoo was a cage with a raven inside, his falling feathers lining a trail from his bicep to his wrist, blue black stylized feathers. The background of the cage was a wash of watercolours, mostly blue and purple, looking like a galaxy hiding behind the captured raven. A few stars were freckled in with the background.. He batted away her hand and plucked up his coffee, sipping at it in an attempt to ignore his blush at her crass words.</p><p>    “Aw, don’t be shy. You’re hot, I bet I could land you a date tonight without hardly trying…” She winked salaciously at him. “I want to wrap that ass in your tightest pair of black skinny jeans. And that nice pair of black boots your brother got you last year. The badass emo look is totally all in right now.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she shushed him with a finger pressed to his lips. “No, no. You promised me. I don’t feel like driving home, do you want to just be lazy today? I’ll put on a movie while you paint, I know you get itchy when you finish one and want to start a new one pronto.” </p><p>    She turned her own set of puppy eyes on him, a pleading look that melted his resolve. “Oh, I suppose we can do that. I’ll put off the grocery shopping for tomorrow. Will you let Rain out while I clean this up?” Meg clapped happily at the proclaimed lazy day and hopped down from the stool. She clipped a leash onto the bright pink collar of Rain,  taking her outside. He tidied up the mess they’d made then went upstairs to grab a new canvas and a few sketching pencils. An idea was already brewing in his mind. </p><p>    Together they wasted away the morning and afternoon with ease. Meg insisted they start re-watching Criminal Minds from the beginning; a show they’d already watched at least a dozen times over. She. as usual, acted as if she had never seen an episode before, excitedly babbling the entire time. He smiled at her antics as he started sketching out a new painting, the rough shapes and lines slowly turning into the body of his puppy, Rain. </p><p>    By the time evening came around, fat grey clouds rolled in to overtake the once clear sky. An angry sounding roar of thunder shook the house without warning, followed quickly by a crack of lightning that made the hair on his arms stand up with a rush of goosebumps. Uneasy, he moved over to the window, looking outside. He cast a worried look over to Rain, who immediately started to whine at the sound of the storm. “Meg?” She peeked up from the couch, already wearing her classic stink face.</p><p>    “Oh no, you are not calling a rain check on me, Castiel. We’re going out, you hermit.” </p><p>    “Rain check? Meg, there is no need to check for rain.” He gestured to the window where thick drops had begun to fall, spitting loudly against the glass panes. “And Rain is inside, too.” He reached down to pet her gently since she now was tangled in his legs, whimpering at him. “She does not like the rain, the irony of which does not escape me.” He smoothed his hand over her ears, trying to soothe her. </p><p>    Meg pulled herself free of the couch cushions, stretching out pops and cracks from her joints. “Nope, sorry, Castiel. We’re going out. Your dog will be fine. Your dick on the other hand? It needs some company. Let’s go get you dressed, buttercup.” She tsked at him before climbing the stairs to his loft bedroom, already familiar enough with his home to barge happily into the walk in closet. </p><p>    He followed her reluctantly, “What my, ahem, uh..” He trailed off uncomfortably, then gave up on it with a huff of annoyance. “If she makes a mess while we are gone, you are cleaning it up,” he threatened weakly. Meg ignored him and pulled out a pair of skinny black jeans, a navy button up and the aforementioned pair of boots. She dropped the clothes on his messy bed then tousled his hair lightly, ruffling up the already messy curls with an affectionate hand. </p><p>    “Get dressed, Cassie. We’re in for a fun night, the storm be damned.” She disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up while he got dressed. He purposefully took his time to get dressed, still casting worried looks to the window that lit up with flashes of lightning. The evening was still young, the sun not yet ready to set. But it was now a sickly looking yellow outside and the thunder continued with the heavy drum of the rain. He knew Meg would have to drive, the idea of driving in the dismal weather enough to make his heart speed up with fear. </p><p>    ~~~~~</p><p>    The drive was horrible. Meg was overconfident in her driving, speeding through the soaked roads without a turn signal and more than a handful of swears at what she felt was drivers being too slow but what he felt was a very reasonable speed. Her windshield wipers were past due for a change, squeaking incessantly against the windshield. It was almost enough to make him pray.</p><p>    By the grace of … something, they made it to their destination in one piece and uscathed, though his hand ached from holding on what Meg called the ‘oh shit bar’. He eagerly slid out of the pink abomination that was her minivan, skirting around a massive puddle and rushing to go hold the door open for her. Breakfast had been too long ago, his stomach growling. They had opted to skip lunch in favor of the heavy dinner and probably equally as heavy drinking. <br/>Meg thanked him as she walked into the restaurant. They were almost immediately seated, the storm having put a damper on what was usually a very busy time for a Saturday night. The decor was elegant but minimal with soft lighting that he appreciated. He, personally, disliked the bright fluorescent lighting most places used. </p><p>    “Ooh, Cassie, we’ve got a hottie for a waiter,” Meg whispered to him after a handsome man took their drink orders and recommended his favourite appetizer, crostini with tomatoes grown fresh at the restaurant. Castiel blushed at Meg’s boldness, shushing her quickly. She grinned at him with a wink before stealing his menu, even though hers was right there.  </p><p>    The food was delicious. He had a simple alfredo dish while Meg got something with salmon. And of course, the crostinis were amazing and were gone in a flash. It was a guarantee they would come back, probably too often. Meg was a terror on the poor waiter, flirting outrageously with him despite the wedding band on his finger. It didn’t take long for him to start avoiding their table and he hurriedly dropped off their check without recommending a dessert. </p><p>    Because of her antics, it was all too soon that they were paying up and the anxiety of the club started to creep under Castiel’s skin, making him fidgety. Outside the rain had dulled into a generous sprinkle, dotting their hair with tiny droplets. The club was within walking distance from the restaurant and she had parked in paid parking. He topped off their meter for the evening and offered Meg his arm, considering she wore high heels taller than his dreams.</p><p>    “Okay, Clarence, loosen up or I’ll get arrested for kidnapping.” Meg chastised him as she thankfully took his offered arm, fingers curled loosely around his forearm. “And before you say it, yes, I know you aren’t a kid nor am I ‘napping you.” She wrinkled her nose at him and avoided stepping in a puddle. He caught the door to the club for her and she murmured something sarcastic about him being a gentleman. </p><p>    Despite being a little early, the sun only barely starting to go down, the club was bursting to the seams with dancing bodies. The smell of overlapping perfumes mixed with a hint of body odor was almost overwhelming. Castiel could feel the thrum of the music in his bones, making his body vibrate slightly with the energy of the DJ. In the space of a heartbeat, he went from being a guide for Meg to her tugging him immediately to the bar where she ordered a couple of shots. His nemesis, tequila, was shoved into his hand and the pressure of her insistence had him knocking it back with a grimace, chasing it with a sparkling water mixed with Malibu she already knew to order for him. The hint of a hint of strawberries and rich coconut mixed with the end of the tequila. Meg always told him his drink of choice was disgusting and weird but he liked how it wasn’t too sweet.</p><p>    “I’m going to go dance. After that drink, I’m dragging you in whether you want to or not. Kicking and screaming is just a bonus for me,” Meg warned before she disappeared into the crowd. The song playing was unfamiliar and felt more like the newest pop single than the alt music he was used to. He resigned himself to the night and drank deeply on his drink. And when Meg came to fetch him, the alcohol was warm in his veins and his face was flushed. He was a lightweight but that just means he was a cheap drunk.</p><p>    Despite her efforts, he did not leave the club with a date or a man on his arm. Instead they stumbled out together arm and arm and dove head first into their uber, her parking meter forgotten and probably overdue. Meg slept on his bed while he took the couch, something he was due to regret by morning when his back was aching. His dreams were vague that night and he woke up thinking strangely of an unknown pair of forest green eyes and a spread of freckles looking like stars against tanned skin. Something unfamiliar but tempting.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chatper 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We're finally getting somewhere! I am sorry for the delay, I wasn't very happy with this chapter and re-wrote it like twice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean shot up in bed with a gasp, hands fisted in his sheets. He was drenched with sweat, the blanket tangled up in his feet like some elaborate knot. He blinked blearily around his room, already soothed by the familiar chug of the air conditioning and the tinny sound of his radio in the background. He felt disoriented and the realities of the dream escaped him, just barely out of reach for him to remember much more than haunting blue eyes and a chilling laugh. </p><p>    He groaned as he fell back into bed, rubbing the palms of his hands against his gritty feeling eyes. The dream had been giving him what felt like nightmares all week, leaving him more and more exhausted every morning. He knew it had to be more dreams about his strange Icarus, but it was always forgotten as soon as he woke up. Dean looked over at his clock and groaned again. It was his day off and here he was awake at 5:45 AM. Adrenaline still ran sluggishly through his veins from the nightmare, a promise he would not be falling back asleep any time soon.</p><p>    With great reluctance, he rolled himself out of bed and plodded down the hall to the kitchen. He started up the coffee pot early, stopping to listen to the sound of the percolating brew and inhaling the fresh coffee scent. He did what he always did, stealing the first cup as soon as it brewed, enjoying the almost too strong coffee. He settled down at the table with a yawn and healthy slurp of his hot bean juice. </p><p>    Outside he could hear the dumpster truck banging the dumpster against the ground, beeping as it backed up and roared away. A guilty look showed the kitchen trash was still almost overflowing but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and take it out. Instead took another healthy gulp and scratched absently at his chest, his skin still sticky from the night sweats, making his shirt rub uncomfortably.</p><p>    He decided to put off his shower so he didn’t wake up Sam. He stayed at the table, playing around on his phone and drinking three entire cups of coffee. The new game he had downloaded was one of those simple resource grinding games with a base you had to build up and farms to manage. It was mindless enough that time slipped away from him, the windows slowly lightening as the sun crept up. Sam blearily stumbled out of his room around 7, immediately making a beeline for the coffee pot. He turned around long enough to glare at Dean,  “You jerk. You drank it all?” He turned back around and dumped the grounds out into their aforementioned overflowing trash can, then refilled the tank for a new pot. </p><p>    “Sorry, Sammy. I was thirsty.” Dean half heartedly bantered, even as he downed the remains of his current cup. He grimaced, it had gone cold while he was playing his game. Sam grumped out something too quiet for him to hear but before he could say anything, his phone started blasting Highway to Hell, his ringtone. He blinked at it stupidly for a moment, wondering who in the hell would be calling him at 7:15 in the friggin’ morning, until Bobby’s name finally registered. He picked up with a yawned ‘hello?’. </p><p>    “Steve’s dead,” Bobby didn’t waste any time on courtesies, his voice flat and toneless. “Steve Wandell. Y’know, your old man’s friend. They found him dead in his office last week.” Dean switched his cell over to the speaker phone, Bobby’s voice turning grainy as it crackled through his speakers. At the sound of their adoptive father’s voice, Sam wandered over to listen, his coffee forgotten. He wrinkled his face into a confused expression at Dean, the name familiar but not immediately placed. Dean waved him off, gesturing to his phone as Bobby went on.</p><p>    “They’re ruling it as a suicide but they found his computer smashed to bits next to him. Sounds t’me like a robbery turned to murder.” Bobby’s  voice grew louder and his flat tone changed to disgusted and pissed to hell, his accent thickening into an angry drawl. “His cameras were broken, too. Like the bastard didn’t wanna be found. Lazy cops don’t wanna do their jobs. Who th’ hell just offs ‘emself after smashin’ their shit.” </p><p>    “Jesus Christ, Bobby. That sounds insane,” Dean managed. “Steve was always a paranoid guy, but I mean, him and dad were pretty tight when he was around.” He winced at the unwanted memories and shoved them ruthlessly down before he could think too hard about his father. “What about his family? Are they just letting it go?” Sam sat down next to him, the chair squeaking against the linoleum. Dean was distracted for a second, thinking about how they really should put something on the chairs before the linoleum got ruined. </p><p>    Bobby drew him back into the conversation, chairs once again forgotten. “Ain’t got none but a cousin or two a few states over. His funeral is on monday.. They don’t want to waste time on it apparently. Because of John, you boys are invited. I’ll close the shop for the day, so you’re free to do what you want after it.” And just like that, Bobby was hanging up. He wasn’t much for short talk, dropping the news like a bomb and leaving before the smoke could clear.</p><p>     Dean blinked tiredly at his phone for a moment before standing up to get another cup of coffee. If he died from an overdose of caffeine, so be it. He also poured some for Sam since he had forgotten about it and added his fancy oat milk creamer. He said it was healthier than the usual coffee mate Dean bought when he wanted a little more flavor than half&amp;half could offer. </p><p>    They sat quietly around the table until it was time for Sam to leave for college at 8:00. Without any plans for the day and being too exhausted to care, Dean let Sam take the impala instead of the bus, a rare occasion. He wasn’t too out of it that he didn’t give Sam the usual speech of treat her like a princess and drive carefully or he would be killed slowly and horribly. Sam just laughed at him and was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. Dean would never understand why Sam picked a Saturday class. The kid had lost his marbles.</p><p>    Dean moved from the table to the couch, switching the TV on. He settled himself comfortably into the cushions, cradling the coffee in his hands. Unwanted memories of his father swirled in his head that he kept stubbornly squashing. He didn’t want to think about his father, or his mother, or their deaths. He put on a loud car show that drowned them out and eventually dozed off on the couch.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>    The morning of the funeral dawned grey and unusually cool for late August. Dean almost shivered, despite the fact he was wearing a cheap suit rental. Sam looked ridiculous in his suit, his floppy hair and gangly body an awkward match for the formal wear. He had a long way to go if he ever wanted to dominate the courts. The threat of rain was damp in the air and the clouds were a depressing collage of monochromatic greys.</p><p>    They climbed into the impala and Dean almost flicked the heat on but abstained at the thought of the stinky first heater smell. Besides, it wasn’t that cold outside. Instead he switched the AC off and rumbled away, the GPS instructing him down some familiar backroads. He had never actually heard of the church, Freewill Baptist, but the roads were something he often raced down when the itch for speed became too overwhelming. </p><p>    The church wasn’t anything special. It looked the same as any old church in Kansas, with stained glass windows and a white cross on the top of the peaked roof. The tiny parking lot was full of cars, Dean was stuck parking in the very back. As it was, their luck went sour as fat raindrops started to fall just as he turned the car off. Sam muttered something about ‘it had better not ruin their suits’ and they both ran to the doors to avoid getting soaked. </p><p>    Dean immediately felt uncomfortable as they both walked into the building, brushing a few clinging drops off their suits. Sam wasted no time in heading into the inner sanctuary, securing him and Bobby a seat near the back. For a man who had almost no family, the church was surprisingly busy and nearly full, the pews crowded with people. Steve might have been a paranoid man, but his heart had been kind and he was well liked despite his oddities. Dean almost wondered how the suicide would stay a suicide before he remembered people simply wouldn’t care that much to fight it.</p><p>    He sighed as he made his way to Sam, plunking himself down in the pew next to him. On his other side was Bobby, looking just as awkward in his suit as Sam. Bobby wasn’t the type to really dress up, preferring his jeans, flannels, and old button-ups with the odd t-shirt or two. Seeing him without his signature vest was downright weird for Dean, especially since the last time Bobby wore a suit was to his parent’s funeral. The memories were immediately smothered. Sam and Bobby started to talk quietly to each other, while Dean fished out his phone to play his game. </p><p>      A few moments later, the pastor called for quiet and began the service. He read from the bible first, quoting scripture in a loud and steady voice. A few people were already wrought with tears, a quiet sound under the pastor’s words. Once the quotes were completed, he moved on to read the obituary and added personal words of praise and regrets. Steve had been in this sleepy town of Kansas for his whole life, a good man with many ties to the local people. His death would take a long time to recover from. When the pastor ran out of words, he allowed person after person after person to come up to the podium to praise and remember Steve.</p><p>     After the third or fourth person, Dean’s discomfort grew too strong. Sitting there, listening to those lamenting over the dead, was too much for him. He whispered over to Sam something about the bathroom then sneaked out as quietly as he could with murmured apologies as he edged out of the pews. Couldn’t they have made this with more leg room in mind? Thankfully the inner sanctuary was closed off from the rest of the church and he was alone as he emerged into the lobby area.</p><p>    He restlessly prowled through the lobby, pacing around with his unease. He went to look at anything and everything in the area, pausing to study paintings and church pictures with smiling faces and formal wear. He peered uncertainly at the windows, where the rain was still coming down, now harder. It had been a very wet summer, leaving the days muggy with humid heat that sucked all the energy out of summer days. He turned away from the window after a moment and went down one of the hallways that wrapped around the inner part. </p><p>    The hallway was a bit narrow but still more comfortable than the suffocating blanket of grief that was the funeral. In the background he could hear a shrill woman recounting a story about Steve and he shuddered away from the noise. The hallway was lined tastefully with a few potted plants and oil paintings in gilded frames. He stopped in front of one painting, intending to just idly look it over, a good alibi if someone came out to and saw him skipping out.</p><p>    But, instead, he was struck with shock, staring wide eyed at the picture before him. His breath caught in his throat, his heart started to beat frantically in his chest. Right before his eyes was his Icarus! The same blue eyes that haunted his dreams now stared out from the paint, up and off to the side with a baleful expression of brooding beauty. Huge black wings stretched up and over, arched gracefully toward a sky of stormy looking clouds, similar to the ones outside. His hands were stretched up in a pleading gesture, as if begging for forgiveness, pressed together in an unspoken prayer. In this depiction, the man wasn’t Icarus, but an angel with a faint halo hanging crooked over a mess of black curls. </p><p>    Dean reached out to touch the painting, sure it was a figment of his imagination, but the thick oily paint was all too real under his trembling fingertips. He took a hesitant step back, still staring at the angel with wide eyes. Until someone coughed gently behind him, an awkward clearing of their throat. He whirled around, guiltily, to see the pastor looking at him with what could only described as a worried expression. “You okay, son?” </p><p>    Embarrassed to have been caught, Dean brushed off the concern with a fake smile, gesturing loosely back at the picture. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just surprised… Looks like someone I know. Uh. Anyways..  I thought angels were supposed to have white wings and look like babies?” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants, to prevent him from wanting to touch the painting again. He felt like a teenager who had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. </p><p>    The pastor gave him a knowing smile, moving over to stand next to Dean, looking at the painting with him. “That is cherubs. And while white wings are more common, this is a special one. The young man who painted this has ties that are quite close to the church. He is on good terms with the Novak family. In fact, the Novaks helped pay for this new building a few years ago. Their donation was very generous and in return, we did not hesitate to commission this fine piece. It’s different from what we usually have but the emotion is pure and captivating.” </p><p>    Dean nodded in agreement, “It’s beautiful…” At hearing how wistful and soft his voice was, he cleared his throat again and moved on with a gruff voice. He did not want this pastor to think he was some sissy or weak kneed boy! “Did you happen to get the artist’s name?” He pointed to the corner of the painting. Instead of a signature, there was only a feather that curved into a ‘C’. “I wonder if it’s the guy I know. Never thought of him as a painter,” he lied. </p><p>    His disappointment surged when the pastor shook his head. “No. I just know he is close with Michael Novak, the gentleman who helped arrange the commission. He neglected to mention the name of our esteemed painter, though there was a promise of more opportunities in the future.” As if some switch had flipped, the doors for the inner sanctuary opened wide and were propped open. People started to filter out and immediately they were surrounded by others wanting to talk and reminisce with the pastor. Dean took one hurried second to snap a picture of the painting with his phone, then left to go find Bobby and Sam.</p><p>    Bobby gave him the stink eye and asked where he’d been, to which Dean shrugged and mumbled something noncommittal. The name Novak was floating around his head, insistently trampling other thoughts. Was it an obsession? Maybe. But it wasn’t one that was hurting anyone. He made his goodbyes and almost dragged Sam out the door, citing he just wanted to get home before the rain got worse. He drove like a bat out of hell, gunning his engine impatiently at every stop. Sam, wisely, said nothing but kept a firm grip on the aptly named ‘oh shit handle’. </p><p>    Dean filched Sam’s laptop as soon as they got into their apartment, ignoring his very vocal protests. “I’m just borrowing it for a little, shut up Sammy. Go watch a movie or something, like a normal human being!” He ducked around, avoiding his attempt to snatch the computer back and bolted for his room, laughing. “I promise, I won’t visit busty Asian babes this time! I’ve learned my lesson!” His response was Sam swearing at him and threatening death if he found even a single bit of malware. </p><p>    With his prize secured, Dean locked his door and plunked down onto his bed. He was wise enough to turn on the incognito mode, pulling up google. He stared at the search engine for a moment, dredging up the courage to type in ‘Novaks’.  To steel his nerves, he leaned over and turned up his radio, letting the music ease his raw nerves. It all felt so surreal, seeing his dreams alive in a painting. It was too similar to be coincidence and that made him extremely uncomfortable.</p><p>      He sucked in a deep breath, let it out slow, and hit enter. The results that pulled up were too much for him to sift through, showing thousands of searches, so he tagged on ‘Kansas’ as well, hoping they were local. They must have been local if they were tied to a small country church, tucked away on the backroads like it was.</p><p>    Immediately he was flooded with information. How he had never heard of the Novak name before was something of a mystery. He scanned through their Wikipedia page, reading it while AC/DC played in the background. The Novaks were an esteemed oil family who discovered a massive reservoir on their land decades ago. They rapidly became a powerhouse family in the oil industry, rising to the top with unmatched ambition. The current Novak family consisted of a mother, Deborah, with her three sons. The father, Hugh, had passed away a few years before in a bizzare golfing accident. </p><p>    Dean dug his way through the rest of the boring history, trying to figure out how the church fit in with this oil empire of a family. He clicked out of the wiki to poke through a few obscure news articles detailing the successes of the oldest son, Michael Novak. It sang the praises of how he was a brilliant businessman who graduated with high honors from Harvard. There were plenty of the same style of articles, all of them about this singular son, the eldest of the bunch and arguably the most successful. He hummed with the radio, now playing some Metallica, something he was thankful for. Nothing like ‘Enter Sandman’ to keep him going!</p><p>    He started narrowing down his search, tired of reading about what seemed to be a pompous man with too much money for his own good. He tried to look for ‘Novak family second son’ but didn’t find anything interesting, except a short page about him eloping to France to be a baker. He ditched that for ‘Novak family youngest son’ and finally he scored something  interesting.</p><p>    The newspaper was dated from eight years before, a small nobody local paper. The front line was ‘NOVAK SCANDAL: SINS OF THE YOUTH!”. There weren't any pictures but the article went on about how the youngest of the sons had been caught in the bathroom nude with another boy, both found in a very compromising position. The son’s name was Castiel Novak, a rebellious teenager who shocked his poor mother with the entire situation. Supposedly the family was extremely religious and there were speculations about whether or not there would be a disowning.  </p><p>     Dean tried searching the son’s name specifically but it only yielded more information about Michael and Deborah. He changed gears and looked up the church, wondering why this church was so special. It was an easy find, plastered on mainstream media. A few years ago, Michael Novak cut the ribbon to commemorate the opening of the new building. Their father, Hugh, had married Deborah at the original church many years ago. There was a short clip where Michael gave a speech about honoring their religion and philanthropy. He was a handsome man with short, neatly styled black hair and a shadow of stubble across his chin, smiling with smug confidence. </p><p>    He finally shut the laptop down, even remembering to do it properly instead of just shutting the top and leaving it to die. He leaned back against his pillows, digesting his new information. Would the angel painting have been painted by the youngest brother, Castiel? With the scandal he’d read, it seemed bizarre that he would be painting angels. He hadn’t found anything about whether the son had been disowned or just punished. And besides, who named their kid Castiel, anyways? It was such a mouthful! </p><p>    Sam distracted him from his thoughts by banging loudly on his door, shouting through with irritation. “Dean, give me back my laptop! I have that essay to finish editing and I haven’t done my citations yet.” Dean scooped up the computer and unlocked his door, handing it over without argument. Sam glowered at him with suspicion, “I better not find any viruses. I still remember my old one you killed with your horrible habits.” </p><p>    “Hey, it was kosher this time.” Dean protested meekly, “I just wanted to look something up and didn’t feel like trying to do it on my phone. Want a pizza for lunch?” He extended his olive branch to smooth over Sam’s ruffled attitude. 30 minutes later, they were both digging into some Domino's pizza, with Sam multitasking, eating and typing.</p>
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